


willing to let go

by Twice_before_Friday



Series: Altered & Extended - season 1 [1]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Non-Consensual Touching, Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 02:33:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21660082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twice_before_Friday/pseuds/Twice_before_Friday
Summary: What if Gil and JT hadn't arrived in time?  What if Carter Berkhead injected Malcolm with that syringe?
Series: Altered & Extended - season 1 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557952
Comments: 54
Kudos: 380





	willing to let go

**Author's Note:**

> The stories in this series are all stand-alones. You don't need to have read the others to read this one.
> 
> This is an alternate take on what happened in Carter Berkhead's office.
> 
> Also, thank you all for your incredibly kind comments and all the kudo's you've left on my other stories! It certainly inspires me to keep writing :)

_So now’s your chance, Carter._

_Now’s your chance to kill me, his prodigal son._

_(Bright, no)_

_I’m willing to let go_

\----

Malcolm closed his eyes and raised his face to the heavens, eerily peaceful, considering the circumstances. He didn’t see the predatory look on Carter Berkhead's face as his hand closed around the syringe that Malcolm was holding against his own arm. He didn’t see as the desperation in Dani's eyes morphed into anger; that he was willing to sacrifice himself (for her? For Mrs. Berkhead? As some twisted penance for his father’s sins?), that he was willing to offer this psychopath another victim, that he had so little regard for his own damn life that he could look like he was awaiting benediction as he prepared himself for what would be a torturous death.

He only opened his eyes when he felt the sharp pinch as the needle pierced his skin. He only looked down as Carter depressed the plunger, releasing the cool liquid into his veins. He stared at his arm as if he could see the crystalline stream as it started to wend its way into his body, saturating his bloodstream, taking him over.

Malcolm was so utterly transfixed by the needle in his arm – strangely surprised that it was actually there, that Berkhead had actually injected him, that after all these years, this was how it would end – that he didn’t notice Dani's silent rise from the floor until she launched herself at Carter Berkhead, the two of them falling to the floor in a struggling heap of fists and elbows, grunts and curses. He blinked rapidly as he came back to himself, staring with wide eyes at the syringe that he was still holding in place in his arm. He yanked the needle out and abruptly dropped it to the ground, almost as if it had burned him, then turned his attention Dani.

Dani, who was supposed to be safe. Whom he had offered himself in place of. Who, as it turned out, had a mean right hook and the ability to keep fighting like a champ even when blood was dripping down her face from a fierce hit to her brow ridge that made Malcolm flinch from where he was standing. Whatever Carter threw at her, she gave right back, all while keeping one hand wrapped around the gun that Carter was still holding in a death grip.

“Dani…” he tried to call out, but his tongue was heavy in his mouth, distorting the sound. His eyebrows drew together slightly, caught off-guard by the sudden weight he was feeling through his body. He tried to move forward, to throw himself bodily into the fray, but his limbs were no longer responding to his brain’s commands. All he managed to do was throw himself off-center enough that he toppled forward, unable to even stretch out his arms to break his fall. 

Fortunately, his knees still took the brunt of the impact, slowing him enough that when his face hit the ground, head still turned ever-so-slightly towards the scuffle beside him, it didn’t fracture his orbital bone, even if it still felt like a sledgehammer to the face. The impact stunned him for a moment, bright bursts of pain flashing behind his eyes, leaving him groaning on the floor as his eyes watered relentlessly.

At the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the floor, Dani's head whipped over, momentarily distracting her from her fight with Berkhead. She called out a concerned “Bright?” just as Carter raised his hand crosswise above his head and then slammed the butt of the gun down with a sickening thud on Dani's temple.

From where Malcolm was laying, flat on his stomach with his useless arms down at his sides, he felt like he was watching the entire scene play out in slow motion. Dani crumpled to the floor and stayed terrifyingly still as Carter slowly got his feet under him. He wiped the blood from his chin - courtesy of the split lip Dani had gifted him - with the back of his hand as he surveyed his surroundings. Three bodies entirely under his control. Entirely at his mercy. Malcolm couldn’t contain the slight whimper that slipped out as he noted the glimmer in Carter's eye and the twitch of his lips into something resembling a smile, only twisted with virulent malice.

He moved to Dani first, dragging her none too gently to the desk and grabbing her handcuffs, bringing her hands to either side of the desk leg before snapping on the cuffs. Should Dani wake up, and Malcolm was praying that she would, she would be trapped and unable to help.

Then he moved over to Blair. Malcolm could hear rustling, sounds of metal rattling, something heavy being dragged and dropped, but was unable to turn his head to see what Carter was doing. Worse, he was unable to crawl to Dani to see if she was alright. If he rolled his eyes up just a little, which was the only part of his body he seemed capable of moving at this point, he could see her sprawled out on the floor with her arms cuffed above her head. The sinking feeling in his stomach eased slightly as he observed the rhythmic rise and fall of her back, letting him know that there was still hope for this to end well.

Soon, Carter strode over to Bright, standing over his helpless form and staring down at him.

“Malcolm Whitly,” he said, “your father taught me so much. Let me show you.”

Carter knelt down beside him and slid his hands under Malcolm’s shoulder and hip, pushing roughly and flipping Malcolm unceremoniously onto his back. Carter leaned forward and reached out, gently running the back of his fingers up and down Malcolm's cheek before pausing at the area around his eye that was already red and starting to swell, and pressing down forcefully with his thumb.

The pain was overwhelming and immediate, throbbing through the bone and stabbing into Malcolm’s brain. His mind was screaming at him to fight, to run, to do something, _anything_ , to make it stop, but he couldn’t do a Single. Fucking. Thing. He couldn’t get away from the pain as Carter continued to press down, holding Malcolm’s gaze and relishing in the helplessness and torment he saw there. He couldn’t fight back. He couldn’t even scream; the paralytic having finally frozen his vocal cords.

“Oh yes,” Carter sighed, finally releasing the pressure from Malcolm's face to continue stroking down his cheek, down his neck, and over his chest. “Your eyes are so expressive Malcolm. I’m going to enjoy our time together.”

The feeling of being manhandled, of having no control over his body or what was done to it, had kicked Malcolm's heart into overdrive. Panic was coursing through his body, leaving him light-headed and tingly and vaguely nauseous. He realized he was trapped inside his own body, and it was entirely his own fault. Now he would know exactly what his father’s victims felt when he killed them. What the Girl in the Box presumably felt when she died. As his breath came out in shuttering pants, faster and faster, he recognized the signs of an impending panic attack and knew he needed to try to calm himself down and keep his wits about him. His body was failing him, he wouldn’t let his mind fail him too.

Two decades of therapy finally paid off as he practiced the techniques that he had been taught to stem his anxiety. He didn’t have many choices for finding a focus object, since he couldn’t move his head, so he settled on the diamond-shaped relief on the ceiling, focusing all his concentration on the shapes and colours, following the lines with his eyes as best he could. Then he started repeating that morning’s daily affirmation - as good a mantra as any, he supposed - over and over and over in his head until his breathing slowed and his vision lost the fuzzy feeling around the edges.

_I am willing to let go and trust myself_

_I am willing to let go and trust myself_

_I am willing to let go and trust myself_

Carter watched as the panic subsided and smiled down at Malcolm.

“Such a fighter. It makes it so much better,” he said, idly fingering the buttons on Bright’s shirt. Malcolm continued glaring at the ceiling, keeping focused on the patterns above him, striving to keep his breathing deep and even. He was noticing, however, that it was becoming increasingly more difficult to do so. It felt as though a weight had settled on his chest, preventing him from getting a full breath into his lungs.

He considered the paralytic he'd been injected with. Carter would have calculated the dosage based on Blair's body weight, and Malcolm, therefore, should have been fine. He was slender, but Blair was downright tiny. However, Malcolm was on a battery of prescription medications and the paralytic could easily be interacting adversely with any of them, suppressing his breathing. If the reaction got much worse, he wouldn’t be alive long enough to suffer what Carter was planning. Malcom was beginning to wonder if that might just be a good thing.

As if sensing his thoughts, Carter stood and walked over to the table laid out with medical instruments, speaking calmly as he went. “I suppose we ought to get started. I imagine we don’t have much time, and I really must finish The Surgeon's quartet.”

He selected a preloaded syringe from the table and casually made his way back to Malcolm, humming tunelessly as he walked. His eyes roamed over Malcolm’s prone body for a moment before he straddled Malcolm’s legs and lowered himself to his knees, sitting atop Malcolm’s thighs and placing the syringe beside him on the ground.

Bright’s breathing, already laboured, faltered as Carter stared to undo Malcolm’s belt buckle and the button and fly on his pants. He needed to scream for him to stop, could feel the pressure of the words building in his lungs, but couldn’t even manage a whimper. His mind was pleading with his body to fight, to push the threat away, but he couldn’t do anything but lay there and take whatever Berkhead gave him.

Fear was something that Malcolm was used to. It had been clinging to him day in and day out for 20 years. It was in every dark corner, every interaction, every mirror he glanced into. But this was different. Tangible. He could feel it inside, clawing and gnawing and slithering its way around his stomach and into his heart.

Carter pulled Malcolm’s shirt free from his waistband, pushing it up a little to get it out of the way and then returned his attentions to Malcolm’s pants and underwear, yanking both down slightly. He didn’t lower them enough to expose him, but the fear and nausea was still rolling through Malcolm in waves. He could feel Carter’s interest pressing hard against his thigh. He knew that dominance and control were the ultimate turn on for Carter and didn’t doubt that he might be considering sex to go along with the fatal injections, as an added display of power.

Carter was eyeing Malcolm hungrily, taking in every ragged breath, every bead of sweat, every flash of fear in his eyes. He knew that Malcolm would be begging and pleading right now if he could and the knowledge that he had taken away his ability to do even that was intoxicating. The sheer terror in Malcolm's eyes was making him even harder, and he rolled his hips experimentally, a low moan escaping at the friction. He felt the thrill of absolute power pulsing through his body as he leaned over to grab the syringe and then brought it to Malcolm's bared iliac crest.

Bright realized in that moment that he didn’t want to die. Not just that he didn’t want to die like this, but he didn’t want to die at all. Frankly, it came as a bit of a surprise and he cursed the timing as it was far too late for that epiphany to make any kind of difference. Because now his breaths were coming out too fast and too shallow, and he was about to be injected with a cocktail of substances that would shut down his body, slowly, in the most painful way imaginable, and there was a very real possibility that he was going to be raped while he was waiting to die, and the edges were all going grey and blurry as he struggled to stay conscious…

And then there were gunshots and the sound of boots on the floor, and Gil and JT were shouting but Malcolm couldn’t make out the words because what little air he had been managing to suck in was abruptly cut off as the bulk of Carter Berkhead's wounded body landed on top of him.

It was a terrifying few seconds until Gil made it over and pulled Berkhead off of Malcolm, tossing him onto his stomach and roughly handcuffing him. Then he turned his gaze to Malcolm, noting his rumpled and partially undone clothes, the gasping breaths and the unnatural stillness of his body.

“Bright?” he asked, worry strumming through his voice, moving over to kneel beside him. He could see the panic in the kid’s eyes, which couldn’t seem to focus, and did his best to keep his tone soothing as he tried to calm him down. “Kid? I need you to try to slow your breathing okay? Can you move at all?”

Malcolm's lack of response and the two syringes beside him (one empty and one full) were enough to give him an idea of what had happened. He just had to pray that the paralytic was the only thing Carter had a chance to inject into the kid.

“I’m going to move you into recovery position, okay?” Gil's first attempt at moving Malcolm was met by choking gasps as he moved Malcolm’s left arm out to the side. As soon as he had touched him, he could feel Bright's pulse kick into double time as it raced under his fingers. He leaned back and held his hands up in a placating gesture in front of Malcolm. “Hey, it’s just me. You’re safe now. No one's going to hurt you. Bright, can you look at me?” There was no change, no response. “Malcolm!” he called out, and it seemed that there was finally a flicker of recognition in Bright’s eyes.

“Hey there, City Boy,” Gil smiled sadly down at him, resting his hand gently on his head, brushing his thumb slowly over his hairline, the severe swelling of Bright's eye causing his brow to furrow in concern. “I’m going to move you onto your side, it should help you breathe a bit easier.” He gave Malcolm a moment to register his intentions before he gently moved his right arm to lay across his chest. He called out to JT as he bent Malcolm’s right leg and carefully rolled him onto his left side, “JT, how’s it going?”

Malcolm mentally praised Gil's quick thinking, as he was able to manage deeper breaths now that he was on his side.

“Mrs. Berkhead is unconscious and restrained but seems fine. Powell's got a head injury but is coming around. Ambulance should be here soon.”

If moving onto his side helped Bright breathe easier, it was nothing compared to hearing Dani's muffled curses as she came around. He may not have known her long, but he was exceptional at reading people and could tell that she was a good person. Knowing that he hadn’t gotten her killed was an immense relief. He couldn’t see JT and Dani from where he was laying, but he could hear the conversation as Dani tried to get up and JT tried to keep her still.

“Bright?”

“Gil's got him, he’s okay.”

“Is he…”

“Hey. Nope. No. You need to stay put.”

“I'm fine.”

“Really? Tell that to your head, cuz it looks like a cracked open watermelon.”

“Jesus, JT.”

Gil rolled his eyes and shook his head as he rested his hand reassuringly on Bright's neck. It made Malcolm realize that everything was going to be okay, so he let himself relax, knowing the paralytic would wear off soon, and that Gil would keep him safe until it did.


End file.
